The silence forced upon the mass came on a sudden Thursday, as all means of communication were shut down abruptly overnight
like a caterpillar cocooned into its shell undergoing metamorphosis—growing up sneaks up to you whether you want it or not
How do I tell her, that things often don't work out the way you expect them to, / And that you are, in fact, alone in this
The hurt remained beneath my skin like an unwritten revelation—never acknowledged, never tended to;
Remembering Dutch Post-Impressionist painter Vincent Willem van Gogh on his 170th birth anniversary–March 30, 1853.
Seek if you must If you believe the truth shall set you free And then? We heal.
It was rather a pallid looking steel box; grey-shaded, almost colourless and drained of life. Which made it ideal for a twelve-year-old girl secreting away all her shenanigans, out of everyone’s reach, safe and sound in a dust piled corner in the attic.
I've always loved painting sunset as it was filled with so many colours. I loved colours. I'd use as many colours as I could to make the paintings alive.
